


My Dear...

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Requests, drabbles, short stories [59]
Category: A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia (1990), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), The Letters of T. E. Lawrence - T. E. Lawrence, The Mint - T. E. Lawrence
Genre: AU, Epistolary, Letters, Light Angst, Love Letters, M/M, Some Inaccuracy, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: A little writing experiment/exercise: Lawrence, stationed in RAF Miranshah writes a letter to Feisal.Not part of "My Soul and Yours".
Relationships: Faisal I of Iraq/T. E. Lawrence
Series: Requests, drabbles, short stories [59]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1391215
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	My Dear...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @catandguitarsnugglingonthecouch

Mon Cher Feisal,

I hope this letter finds you well. Your last message was like a ray of sunlight, I carry it in the breast pocket of my uniform, where it can warm my heart and my soul.

I understand your concern regarding the uprising in Afghanistan. Rest assured that I am not involved, nor am I even physically close to the troubles in question. In fact, I will be returning to England, the date of my departure is set: January 8th. I will notify you as soon as I arrive on English soil, it may, however, be a while so be patient and do not worry about me.

Christmas was a miserable affair, the men spent most of their free time in the wet bar, drinking themselves senseless, then attended the festivities hungover and reeking of digested beer. I managed to avoid some of the forced merriment by swapping duties and thus survived in one piece.

You ask if I am treated well. I am respected but not liked. My superiors see me as a burden, a liability and will be glad to see the last of me. My fellow airmen barely consider me one of them. My pound note accent, upper class manners, education and taste in music single me out. Imagine a unicorn in a stable full of racehorses, that is how I feel sometimes. The last time I felt that I truly belonged was when I was in your arms. Those were simpler, happier times, I suppose. 

I must go now, packing awaits. 

I remain yours and yours only,

TE


End file.
